


Safe

by Davechicken



Series: The Emperor and his Knight [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: BDSM, Dark, M/M, Neither Poe nor Kylo die, dark!Poe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:57:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6149855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Emperor, and his Knight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe

There were those who had, in the past, underestimated Poe Dameron. They thought that a man, born of two of the Rebellion’s greatest heroes, would never rise as high as he did on his own merit. They thought that a ‘mere’ pilot would never have worked his way through the ranks on his own, no matter how skilled he was behind a joystick, or how easily he took to wider tactical warfare. He was a turncoat, a traitor to his family’s heritage, and they looked upon him with suspicion to start with, preferring the dyed-in-the-wool conditioned children-men to those who defected on (or close to) the age of consent, fully informed and able to decide for themselves.

They learned not to do so in earshot of Kylo Ren. Kylo Ren, who was quick to grab them from their life, and snarl into their face that the _General_ had seen the _Dark_ at precisely the same time as he himself had, and did they doubt the Supreme Leader’s decision to make him Master of his Knights?

…that didn’t help much, either, because then the rumours that the short General was Kylo Ren’s lover spread wider, and his loyalty and progression were then pinned to Kylo’s favour elevating him. Maybe it was accurate, in a way. The two had certainly rose quickly through their respective ranks at much the same pace. Whether it was nepotism and corruption, or simply a co-operative function of two career-minded individuals would be difficult to prove, either way. The fact that no one in uniform seemed able to handle the Knight’s moods and ways but Dameron had meant they were almost _always_ stationed together. Any split was short-lived (and tumultuous). 

Any and all suspicion about their fraternisation came to a very abrupt halt the day the Supreme Leader was killed. Without any outward sign of conflict, the Knight and the Leader met at last, for the completion of his training. Only… only one man alone left the room alive. 

Kylo Ren carried the ex-Leader’s head, speared on Snoke’s own saber, out of his audience chamber and threw it - blade still ignited and crackling red through the skull - at the feet of General Dameron. The bridge crew of the _Finalizer_ all stopped their work, and turned to watch.

“Come here, Lord Ren,” the General had said, a wide, wicked smile on his lips.  


No one expected the Knight to obey so readily, nor did they expect their normally professional superior officer to grab the Knight’s robes and pull him down into a demanding kiss. 

After that, any lingering suspicions about their now-Leader and his Knight-consort went right out the window.

*** 

Kylo, still Master of the Knights, had no desire to assume the mantle of Supreme Leader. He had never craved political power, had only ever wanted the personal kind. Mastery of himself, and of the Force. The freedom to feel - to love - whomsoever and whatsoever he wanted. He’d taken all he could from Snoke before ending him, and it was only because the Republic and their precious Resistance would no longer take him back that he stayed with the Order.

There was only so much sin you could take onto your soul and be forgiven, after all. Only so many things you could walk away from. And Kylo didn’t mind, if he… occasionally wished things had been different. But the Jedi and their _ridiculous_ rules had made him into this - a Resistance Fighter against a Resistance itself. He had no real connection to the Order’s beliefs, but he knew they would support him where the Republic would not. In this case, it was the lesser of two evils.

And then there was the part where General - _Emperor_ \- Dameron now spearheaded the military and political arm of the Order. Kylo didn’t know if Poe did it because he enjoyed the power, or if he did it to make a safe place for his lover. They’d been inseparable, since children. Two engines yoked in parallel, pulling in the same direction, like the two sides of a podracer. Poe, with his military and intellectual acumen; Kylo, with his knowledge of the Force, and of the ways to win (or break) hearts and minds. When the Jedi tried to break him, tried to pull his heart out in an attempt to get rid of the _Darkness_ they saw in him, Kylo had begged Poe to save him. To save him, and prevent them from ruining his soul forever. And Poe had. Poe had taken him by the hand, and run as far from their families as it was possible to go. Run, and run, and run. 

Run, until the only thing left to do… was **climb**.

***

They didn’t need to hide, any more. That was what rang loudest in Kylo’s head on the bridge, in front of everyone. No Jedi left in the galaxy, and no Snoke, either. No rules to keep them apart, and _so what if they’d destroyed whole planets_ to get this? Didn’t people realise that if that’s what it took for Kylo to get Poe, and Poe to get Kylo, that they’d do it? That they’d destroy solar systems for a stolen kiss? That they’d rip apart all the traditions of both Light and Dark so they could slide fingers under clothes? That their love was the kind that people wrote _stories_ about? It wasn’t tragic. It was only other people’s lives that were tragic, because they’d stood in their way. Now they were all gone, and Kylo could love Poe with all his heart, and anyone who raised an eyebrow would be airlocked, executed, or skewered on a blade of plasma and hate.

Poe’s. He was Poe’s. And Poe was his.

***

He’d listened with half an ear as Poe told the crew what was happening, what _had happened_. Told them that they served two masters now; himself, and his Knight, his consort. Told them that the power was shared, and that each would be considered an extension of the other’s will.

Not that Kylo really cared. It would be nice to have them obey without question, or consideration of their petty rank structure. He left the mundane things to Poe, and he trusted him utterly. He swirled his saber when Poe said to, and otherwise he worked with his Knights and made sure none of them got any ideas about following in _his_ footsteps. 

Emperor. Knight. 

If only they knew.

Fingers glanced against the other, a gloved touch, but it promised so much more. 

***

Much later - once all the hurlyburly was done - once the fallout had been and gone - it was just the two of them in their rooms. _Their_ rooms. It felt good to be able to think it, without walling it off behind a shield. To be able to let his emotional side play out without fear of it being _picked up on_. That had been the hardest thing so far; first it was keeping their affection from Master Luke, and then from the Supreme Leader. Kylo had gotten incredibly good at partitioning off sections of his heart and mind, in keeping things locked away inside. 

He knew it had frustrated Poe, but Poe had also been aware of the pressing need for their secrecy. The Supreme Leader would happily have played one against the other, or used them as leverage or **worse** , if he felt the need. And Kylo would have done anything - _anything_ \- to protect Poe, and he knew the same was true of his lover. 

Kylo walked in pace with his Emperor, all the way to the door. Poe opened it first, and entered before him. Kylo waited, and kept his hands by his sides. He tilted his mask down slightly, respectfully.

He might be _Master_ of his Knights, but this - this was private. Personal. He watched Poe’s face as his hands came up to touch his mask. Fingers glanced over the brow ridges, sliding around the frame. A hand over the faceplate, as if he could muffle his speech and breathing through leather. Kylo’s pulse kicked up several notches at the touches, even though he couldn’t directly _feel_ them, just the contact at a remove, by how it felt when the mask shifted subtly against his face.

“My Emperor,” the Knight said, tone reverent and longing.  


“My Knight,” said the other, and his tone was fond and loving. “Kneel for me. Swear your loyalty, your allegiance.”  


Kylo had sworn it a hundred times with his tongue, with his hands. He would swear it a hundred thousand times more. He dropped to one knee, hands clasped over the one bent before him, and lowered his head in respect. “My _Emperor_ ,” he said, and this time he let his voice drop lower. “I would give to you every planet, every star, every moon… I would give to you my very sword-arm, my saber, to command as your own.”

Poe’s eyes glinted in delight, though Kylo couldn’t see. Instead, he felt the touch of metal to one shoulder, and he knew - knew - it was Poe’s blaster. The sidearm ran over the front of his chest, and under the folds of his cowl. “Remove this. Let me see my sworn bondsman.”

Kylo lifted the hood from his shoulders, and cast it to one side. He was still masked, and when the blaster moved to press into his throat, he tilted his head up to look at his Master. Brown eyes met through the visor, and he knew Poe could see _all the way inside of him_. It was always a terrible thrill, to know that Poe understood him in ways no one else could. To know that Poe had been there _before_ , had seen the young boy struggle with who he could _become_. Had heard whispered confessions in the dark, and loved him all the same. He offered his throat willingly, and when the muzzle pressed hard - harder - hardest - he offered a tiny moan of pleasure. 

“Put that face of yours where you should worship me,” the older man insisted, his voice sure and so very close to power-mad.   


Kylo loved that about him. How much he _enjoyed_ this. It never felt like Poe just did it to satisfy him, no. They both loved this twisted exchange, and Kylo felt - at last - _himself_ when he was with Poe. He had to reach over the intrusion of the blaster, and he turned his head to run the arch of his temple against Poe’s crotch. It was ludicrous, and he loved it. Poe’s breath hitched, and then there was a hand holding him still as his Emperor rutted and humped against his helmet, defiling the mask with his lust. Kylo would have scored in ‘Property of Emperor Dameron’ into the material by now, if he thought his lover would approve. Perhaps he should do so on the inside, where only they knew it lay.

The Knight felt his head tilted back again, and Poe rubbed against his faceplate, as if he was trying to get through it to the hungry mouth below. He felt his mouth get damp with wanting, salivating over the thought of what was beneath both of their clothes. He loved to lick and suck on Poe’s cock, to devour it, to feel it hit the back of his throat. He loved when Poe held his hair and rode him, told him he should swallow it like a good bitch, told him he deserved every sting of pain, every tear forced out from his eyes. He loved the rub of hair against his face, and he loved the hotsalt taste of it when Poe let him swallow his seed. He mouthed at the back of the faceplate, keening in hunger, and that got a crack of the blaster across the back of his helmeted skull.

“Did I tell you you could complain?”  


Kylo shrank down at once. “No, Master.”

“You do as I say, when I say. Now: _lick my boots and grovel_.”  


He couldn’t lick _anything_ through his mask, but he also hadn’t been told to remove it, and the sudden conflict made him freeze. The handgrip smashed down into his head next, and Kylo followed the motion down and prostrated himself, hands on the floor, rubbing awkwardly over Poe’s boots as if it would help.

“I can’t hear your _tongue_ ,” the Emperor snapped.  


Shit. Kylo let his tongue out to taste the inside of his own mask, and he slobbered noisily so the sound would travel, making a mess in the cramped enclosure as he tried to satisfy Poe as best he could. His mouth felt wrong before long, his tongue tired and struggling to stay wet, the helmet getting too hot and steamed for this to be very pleasant. But Poe wanted. And Poe got.

“Better,” he said, and then stepped back. He stepped back, and went to sit in his chair.   


Kylo reeled, and looked over to where his Master-Emperor sat. The man put a hand between his legs, and stroked himself through his smart, black pants. Kylo wanted that for himself, but he hadn’t been given permission. Not yet. He made himself as small as possible, and looked hopefully (but only glancingly) up.

“Want this, pet? Want what I have for you?”  


“Yes, Master.”  


“Think you deserve my cock?”  


“No, Master.” Kylo did not. Even killing Snoke and offering him the whole of the First Order was not enough. _Nothing_ would ever be good enough for his Poe, for his Poe who always kept him safe. Who left everything they’d ever known behind, just to keep his heart from breaking. **Nothing** would ever repay that debt.  


“That’s right. You don’t. So you come here and you beg me properly.”  


Kylo slunk as low as he could, crawling on hands and knees, posture as submissive and non-threatening or demanding as he could make it. He knew no one else would ever understand his need for this, or understand how he could be the Master of the Knights, and subject himself to such indignities under his non-Force-using lover. Kylo didn’t care in the slightest, and he loved wearing the marks of their loveplay under his black, shrouded shield. The bruises that might last for days, the thin score-marks on the few occasions Poe had deigned to draw blood. Kylo never let those heal fully, wanting to remember the glorious mess, the blood that shone so brightly on his pale skin, the _release_ he felt when his skin gave way, and the **aliveness** that pounded through his heart.

He crawled, and he curled around his boots like an obedient pet. “Please, Master,” he said, tone low and hushed. “Please let this one satisfy you. This one wants to make you happy. This one hungers for your lust, your pleasure, your approval.”

Poe kicked him away, and Kylo whined, and crawled back. Over and over, begging him to let him love him. Begging him to let him show him the depth of his adoration and affection. The man in the chair simply pressed a finger to either side of the fat swell of his erection, making the fabric around it taut. Kylo wanted it so very badly, and he cowered back when one kick caught him in the jaw. 

“Very well. Take off your mask and suck me through my uniform. If you make a good job of it, I’ll let you lick the skin.”  


His hands were up and freeing his face the moment Poe stopped talking. The helmet clattered to one side, and Kylo moved to kneel between his legs. He hadn’t been given permission to use his hands, so he lapped his tongue over the tented fabric, and then wrapped his lips around it and tried to suckle, hard. It tasted horrible under his tongue, especially when he knew Poe’s flesh was so close, and smelled so good. He moaned - just once - and cringed because he hadn’t been given permission to. He was punished by a fist in his hair, and  it pulled so hard he wanted to cry, but he wasn’t going to, and he carried on slurping noisily instead. 

Poe loved the noises. Kylo knew. He made as many as he could.

“Better, pet. Now… do you think you can go for longer, this time?”  


Kylo nodded. He’d been practicing how long he could hold his breath. He waited as Poe freed his erection, and then - looking up for permission - sunk down until his throat protested at the intrusion. His tongue had to press down to make room, and he couldn’t taste much, but it was _warm_ and it was _skin_ and it was **glorious**. He tried to make it good, tried to use his lips to make it tight, and he tried to hold on for as long as possible. The blackness rose up behind his eyes, and threatened to drown him; a swamping, smothering feeling that was more good than bad, a sense of the world drifting away and he wavered on his knees. His body wanted to _expel_ the intrusion, to draw in air, and he fought it down and down and down and–

–things sort of went swimmy, and then his mouth was empty, and he keened in protest, but the sound was soft and almost not-there. A hand - gloved - on his face, and a smile above him. “Good, my pet.”

Good. Kylo lived for those ‘good’s. Lived to see his Master happy with him. He nuzzled at his full cock, asking if he should go again?

“Yes. But slower. Make love to me, with your mouth. Show me how much you care.”  


Those moments were rare. Poe usually favoured the brutal and rough, or maybe Kylo did, or maybe they both did. But they could do other things, as well. He kissed the tip of his cock lovingly, whispering tiny promises and then lapping and suckling and touching every inch of that velvety shaft with his face. Eyelashes brushing his head, and then Kylo just used the very edge of his tongue to flicker out. He cast eyes briefly up, and saw Poe smiling down at him. Poe was happy. It made Kylo’s stomach lurch. 

“Do you think I should fuck you?” Poe asked.  


It was a loaded question. Yes. No. Both. Neither. Yes. Torn, Kylo looked down. “It is up to you, Master.”

“Yes. It is.”   


Poe wrapped a hand around Kylo’s throat, and tugged him upwards. He went upright with him, hands out to cancel the wobble from the change in centre of gravity. He looked dazed and pleased, and when he was pulled to straddle his lap, he moaned at the feeling of Poe’s cock trapped between them. He wanted to grind down into his lap, but he didn’t dare. 

“You were very good today, pet. You killed that bastard for me. So I’m going to let you ride my cock, and I’m going to let you feel me come inside of you. And if you take it nicely, I’ll stroke your cock with my _own_ hand.”  


It was more than Kylo deserved, and he felt dizzy with it. He _whined_ , and looked so very, very happy. He pulled at his sleeves with his hands, and waited to be told what to do. “Thank you, Master.”

“Get the lube. And then open yourself for me. Look me in the eyes as you open your hole for my cock. And then - when I think you’re ready - I’ll tell you to sit on it.”  


The command made a shudder run from head to toe, and Kylo had the lube in his hand from their customary hiding place before it had even finished. He still had his gloves on, so opening it was hard. He slicked several fingers, and then he pulled his pants down just enough to let him shove his hand inside. The first finger stung like hell, and he even loved the sensation of the leather. Poe often fucked him with a gloved hand, sometimes the whole hand. Kylo would rather it was Poe’s fingers, but he would get his cock instead, and that was better. He watched his Master’s eyes, and whispered more thank yous as he pushed through the sting of it, and opened himself up as rapidly as he could. Poe would often want him _now_ , and he wanted it to be only nicely firm, and not so hard it was uncomfortable to slip into him. 

“Such a good pet…” 

Poe carded fingers through his hair, and Kylo melted into it. Poe was being really kind to him, and he loved it, even if he didn’t deserve it. He whispered another thank you, and the second finger went in. His legs shook around the intrusion, and his eyes went unfocussed.   


“Now nothing can stop me from parading you around in front of everyone. I could fuck you on the bridge, if I wanted. I could have you come to give your reports to me on your hands and knees. I could order you to slip one of your plugs in, and crawl around and ask every officer for a slap on your ass, if I felt like it. Would you like that, pet?”  


Yes. No. Both. “…whatever you want, Master,” he choked out, instead. Which was truer. He tried to go faster, and then a hand clamped around his wrist. He let it be pulled out from inside of him, and then the excess lube was wiped in a smear across the black of his robes. He felt giddy and dizzy, and when the slap of a cockhead between his legs announced he was about to get _it_ , he bit his lip hard and gazed longingly at his Poe, his Master, his Emperor, his Heart. 

Poe guided him down, and Kylo felt himself full and split and stuffed and everything good in the world. He grabbed at the Emperor’s shoulders, and pushed his head under his chin, curling up around him, despite his height. Poe put a hand on the back of his neck, the other on the small of his back, and shh’d him softly. “It’s alright, pet. It’s alright, my Knight.”

“I love you, Master,” he whispered, as he nuzzled at the side of his neck. He knew he was being bad, but he felt so emotional and happy that he couldn’t resist. Poe would always punish him if he was unhappy, but when he felt overwhelmed with love, he just had to show it. He felt the slight urge in Poe’s hands for him to move, and he started to bounce up and down with all his strength, trying to make it good. Clenching around him, tightening, giving him the best ride he could. “I love you so much.”  


“I love you too,” Poe said, and his voice sounded raw.  


Kylo did that. Kylo did that to him. He made his Emperor happy. He satisfied him. He made him feel loved, and he made him feel pleasure. Kylo rode him harder, determined to give him everything in his power. Determined to make him explode within him, to know that no one would ever love him as deeply and as fiercely and as madly as Kylo could. No one. He whispered dark things against his jaw, promised him the head of any enemy, the control of any planet, the galaxy in his palm. He promised him all those things… and then he promised him the other thing, too. Himself. His obedience, his loyalty, his affection, his adoration. He promised that for always, and forever, and he felt the climax before it hit. Felt the way Poe’s breathing shifted, and the hands on him tightened, and then Poe was spilling inside him without a word.

Kylo loved it. He loved it like air. Better. It was everything, to make Poe come. Kylo didn’t even care if he never got off again, for himself. As long as he could bask in the glow of Poe’s pleasure, he would be content.

But a naked hand - glove somehow taken off without his knowledge - slid into his own pants, and tugged his worthless, bouncing, begging cock. Kylo howled to the stars as his Emperor made his body sing for him, and he wanted to cry but it was only tears of joy. It took a few fierce, sharp strokes and he was spilling all over the pair of them. Over and over, and he collapsed around his lover, tangled in his lap. 

They both sat panting, for a while, letting the sweat cool on their skin. Letting the ejaculate stain their clothes.

Kylo smiled.

“Now you’re safe,” the Emperor whispered. “Now you’ll always be safe.”  


“Thank you,” Kylo said. “Thank you.”   



End file.
